


Forgotten Things

by indecisivemango



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: AU, Best Friends, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Newt is a Dork, Post-The Maze Runner, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Newt, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles Stilinski is Thomas (Maze Runner), Supernatural Elements, Thomas is Stiles, Werewolf, follows movies mostly, newtmas - Freeform, page 250 never happened, slow build Thomas/Newt, the death cure never happened, thomas was in the maze for two months
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-21 22:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisivemango/pseuds/indecisivemango
Summary: AUOn the eve of his freshman year, Stiles Stilinski was kidnapped. He was just gone. No one would've guessed that he would be used as a lab rat in a science experiment about the human brain.Over four years later, the evil corporation called WCKD was finally taken down, and him and a group of other kids were recused from WCKD, yet the mental and physical scars that the trials gave them will never go away. WCKD stole their memories from them, and its incurable. 'Thomas' and his friends have to try and survive this new world, and they have to try and remember their old lives.Yet somethings can't stay forgotten.





	1. Chapter One

Thomas wondered what would’ve happened if Teresa hadn’t betrayed them. He could still see the look on her face whenever he closed his eyes. Her eyes were sad yet void of tears, and Thomas knew that she thought she was doing the right thing.

He wanted to hate her for what she did, and he tried, yet he couldn't, like some part of him wished that she could tell him that she was brainwashed or blackmailed. Anything. A sharp pain in his chest still pinched whenever he ventured deeper into his memories; when he could see the bright lights of bergs soar over the horizon.

Thomas blinked hard. The bright lights overhead stung, forcing him to cover his face with his arm. Wind blew harshly through the doorless helicopter; screaming into his ears. He leaned over to the side and looked out; the scorch was long gone, and replacing it was a vast ocean. Salt burned his eyes and he tore his gaze back inside.

The helicopter was crowded and stuffy, and it was hard to believe that Thomas had actually been able to fall asleep in there. Normally he had a much harder time. Three soldiers stood next to each other on each side of the helicopter; all equipped with heavy guns. If this was WCKD they had no chance against these guys, and nowhere to run.

“Rest easy, sleeping beauty?” Thomas didn’t even have to turn his head to know who spoke to him. An sharp elbow jutted into his side twice and Thomas kicked his foot harshly. “Still sleeping then. Gotcha.”

Rubbing his eyes, Thomas grimaced slightly. “Sorry. How long was I out?” The two of them sat on the floor, leaning on a hard metal wall. Their packs had been taken, and most of their friends were in separate helicopters.

“Not long.” Minho looked irritated. “These stupid shanks won’t even tell me who they are, much less where they're taking us.” He glared pointedly in the direction of one of the soldiers, who kept glaring at them out of the corner of his helmet. “That one is just an asshole.”

Thomas leaned his head back against the cool metal, preparing to try and sleep again; the first real sleep since the maze.

“Don’t leave me alone again you stupid shank! Both you and Newt were sleeping before and it was not fun.”

Cracking open one of his eyes, Thomas stared at Minho, who looked back and forth between him and the sleeping form of their blond friend. “Then go to sleep too.”

Minho was clearly about to say something snarky when the door to the cockpit opened up. Thomas and Minho exchanged a glance. Murmured voices seemed to echo as the people came closer.

Thomas shook Newt awake, who yawned softly before his eyes widened, focused on whatever was ahead of him. “I...I have seen you before…”

Frowning, Thomas returned his attention to the two people standing in front of him, holding on to harnesses above them. The woman was short and had a round face, yet nothing seemed to spark his memory. His gaze shifted to the man standing next to her, and like his best friend, he swore he had seen him someplace before.

“Who are you? Where are you taking us?” Minho glared slightly. “Where is the rest of our friends?”

The man smiled condescendingly. “My name is Dr. James Foster, and this my partner Dr. Myanda Tysing.” He paused as if waited for recognition, yet silence ensued. Thomas shifted uncomfortably, and felt a huge stab of relief when he could spot land as he looked out of the helicopter.

Dr. Tysing stepped in,  “We’re with a corporation called VIBE, who work hand in hand with the United States government to bring down this company titled, WCKD. Surely you’ve heard of us?”

Newt cleared his throat. “Well, none of us remember anything from before we were taken by WCKD.”

Harsh memories flashed in his mind, and he shut his eyes hard to try and rid himself of them, yet they still entered his mind as vivid as when they occurred.  A girl in a box, tall ivy covered walls, a bullet meant for him, people with black blood, bright lights flying over mountains...

A hand gripped his tightly, and he was brought back to the present. Thomas forced his aching eyes open.

“...we have had a mole working for us inside WCKD for weeks, yet we were only able to find you guys after they were able to lure the minds of WCKD close enough to them and far enough away that those people wouldn’t be able to run.”

The helicopter shook as it finally touched the ground. The woman's smile, if possible, got even wider. “Welcome, children! Please watch your step and follow me.”

Thomas looked anxiously at his friends. “Well?”

“Wherever you’re going.” Newt shrugged as he slowly stood up.

Minho snorted. “Like we have a choice.”

Together, they followed the strange woman into a glass building similar to those in the scorch. The floors were shiny and white, yet as soon as their shoes made contact with the smooth surface, a mixture of dirt and blood and mud and other guck got smeared onto the floor.

It honestly made Thomas wonder how pale he was under all the dust.

The hallway was long with dozens of silver doors on each side and every corner they turned at had huge metal double door that had a bunch of red buttons. They stopped at door at the end of the stretch. The door looked no different from any other, yet the woman looked at the door as if it held something special inside.

“This will be your home for the next few days.” She paused. “So...don’t break it.” She strode away on her high heels, leaving him and his best friends staring at the door.

“We should open this.” Thomas murmured.

“Definitely.” Minho crossed his arms, a smirk on his lips. “You should do it, _Tommy_.”

“Don’t call me that, Min. And no, you do it.” Thomas glared at Minho.

“After you, after all, it’s ladies first, ain’t it?”

“Bloody hell, _I’ll_ just open the shucking door.” Newt glared at the both of them, before bravely opening up the silver door. On the other side was two couches and a rug. Nothing. Maybe something was hiding… He stepped inside carefully, his arm muscles tightening in anticipation. Nothing.

When night fell and their dinner had been eaten (brought to them by soldiers with more guns) they all camped out on the couches — Thomas electing to sleep on the floor the first night. While uncomfortable, it was something that Thomas was used to, and he felt it easier to go to sleep while his best friends were near.

 

⇔

 

_“I’m saying, I want you to understand.” Teresa’s face was blurred, yet her voice was clear and sharp and it cut him._

_“Understand what?” His voice broke, and the whole scene was suddenly brought to such clarity._

_Hey, wake up!_

_Teresa turned to face him, her eyes wet and her face expressing all of her emotions. “Why I did it. Please don’t fight them Thomas.”_

_He took a step back, feeling the sense of betrayal washing over him once again. “Teresa, what have you done?”_

_Wake up you shank!_

_The bright lights of bergs glinted over the horizon, over the mountain tops and heading straight for them. For the camp. For Newt. For Minho. For Frypan. For everyone here._

_And it was all her doing. “What have you done?”_

_Tommy, wake up!_

 

Thomas’s eyes shot open and a curious Newt stood above him. “You alright down there? Bad dream?”

Shaking his head unconvincingly, Thomas tore the blanket off of him (that he swore wasn’t on him when he fell asleep) and stood up, yawning. He almost jumped in the air when he saw the man from the night before sitting on one of the couches with a clipboard in his meaty paws.

“What…” Thomas frowned. “How long have you been there?”

The man ignored his question, but adjusted his stare to the door. Newt walked closer and whispered in his ear, “He was there when I woke up too. Surprised I didn’t wake ya.” He laughed softly and leaned back. Thomas grinned slightly.

Suddenly, the man stood. “Well. As it seems as though my partner is quite late, I suggest we start. Hm? Sit.”

The three of them sat down on the rather small couch, and all Thomas could think about was how Minho was crushing his foot with his shoe.

The man sighed, fixing his wire glasses. “This will be a lot to take in. WCKD not only took away all your memories prior to putting their ‘subjects’ in the first trial, they also implanted falsities.”

Thomas felt his heart stop in his chest. Panic flooded through his veins; his hands shook and he tried to calm them by running his hands through his hair. So they messed up their brains more? What else did they do to them? “What...what — .”

Newt spoke up, putting a soothing hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean by falsities?” His voice only barely shook.

“WCKD gave you false names. You were born with different names than what you use at the present time.”

“Why the shuck did they do that?” Thomas turned to see that Minho was basically breathing fire.

His hands were shaking again, but this time he felt angry. “You mean to say, that my name isn’t Thomas? Or that his name isn’t Minho? Or that he’s not Newt?”

“This doesn’t even make sense! Who are we, really, then?” Newt asked the man. Who held out a yellow folder with a bunch of papers inside.

“These,” The man told them, “are all the missing children cases of all those whom were taken four to six years ago, and were under sixteen or above ten years of age in this area. Look through them, try to find who you are. Later, you’ll be given a DNA test to make sure.”

Thomas didn’t know if it was someone trying to get at him, or just pure coincidence, but the first missing persons case was from six years ago; a young girl, only eleven years old, with big blue eyes and a face that appeared in his nightmares.

Minho glared at the picture and quickly moved to the next one, and the next, and the next. The man in front of them began to grow impatient, and he had began to pass back and forth across the small room.

Both Minho and Newt both found their past names before long; Newt’s old name was Samuel Wilcox and Minho’s was Alex Yukimura. In his opinion, neither of those names fit his friends.  While Minho actually liked his name, Newt hated his — stated that it made him feel stuck up.

Just in Thomas’s luck, his case was at the very bottom. The picture of himself caused his heart beat to skyrocket. He looked so young...he had a wide smile on his face and a weird buzz cut that made his face look squished.

And his name — he couldn’t even pronounce his name, yet underneath that, there were five words that echoed throughout his brain.

_Likes to be called Stiles._

⇔

 

Sheriff Stilinski rubbed his tired eyes. An almost empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table next to him — an empty pizza box in front.

Today was the day.

Today was the day he was supposed to send Stiles off to his first day of senior year. Yet, Stiles wasn’t here — and he hadn’t been for over four years. He missed so much of his son’s life, and he couldn’t even blame someone. He was just gone — taken from his room with not even a feather out of place.

The doorbell rang clear and sharp, but the sheriff made no move to answer anyway. He knew who it was. Scott Mccall came around everyday after school to check on him. In the beginning it was to find out if there was any news. Now, hell, he doesn't even know why he still comes.

“Mr. Stilinski?”

Noah Stilinski’s head shot up. That wasn’t Scott, or Melissa, or even any of Scott’s pack. “Uh, yeah, just second.” He cleared the table in haste before rushing to answer the door.

On the other side of the door was a rather short woman in a grey suit. Her hair was pinned up in a business bun and she showed him a badge of some sort. “Hello, Mr. Stilinski. We have received reports that we have found your son. Please follow me.”

“What?” Tears welled up in his eyes. “You found Stiles?”

The woman nodded. “I will tell you more details on the way, but it appears that your son is fine. A healthy eighteen year old.”

Shock struck him numb and the only thing that he could do besides _follow_ was to dial up a number.

“Scott, get your _ass_ over here. We found Stiles.”

 

⇔


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I could finish,” the girl loudly said, “I would tell you that Stiles,” she broke off at the glares she received, “Sorry, Thomas, has a father in a city called Beacon Hills.”
> 
> Minho clapped him on the back with a small smile. “Shank, you have a father.”
> 
> While Thomas nodded and cracked a small grin at that, he felt nothing; no recognition or any sort of connection to the word ‘father’, and he frowned at that. He didn’t like that feeling, and hoped that if — when he got to see his father that he’d remember something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you who commented, gave kudos, bookmarked and even read this story! It means a lot since this is my first story, and it makes my day every time I see a notification in my inbox! 
> 
> Fair warning, this chapter is pretty long, but while the reunion is going to have to wait, I added some fluff! Hopefully you all enjoy!

⇔

Fingers drummed anxiously on leather; beating tunelessly to a cheesy pop song firmly stuck in the preoccupied mind of Scott Mccall. The teen had his head pressed against the cold window, watching aimlessly as the hot desert rolling by.  

He swallowed hard and glanced to his left; Mr. Stilinski had his eyes set firmly on the road, as if by looking away for but a second would cause the woman he’d been following for hours to disappear. 

This was their first lead to finding Stiles in over four years, and they were  _ so  _ close, there was no way in hell they were losing him now. 

Running his fingers through his thick hair, Scott sighed and turned his head back to the window, where the sun had just begun to set over the tall mountains on the horizon. “Mr. Stilinski, what do you think happened to Stiles? I mean, how did they find him?”

Silence filled the car; an unbearable silence that felt suffocating; trapping; and it continued to the point where Scott was tempted to roll down the window and jump out —  just for a relief of the tension that had stirred up in the car from a single question. 

Scott was about to consider going through with his trail of thought when Mr. Stilinski cleared his throat, harshly; his voice sounding rightfully like the man had spent the last few hours crying. 

“Well...um, Scott, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Anything.” he replied quickly. “Anything and everything. Please.” 

Mr. Stilinski kept one of his eyes on the woman's car, but shifted his right eye over to rest on Scott’s anxious face. The man sighed and took a hand off the wheel to rub his eyes. 

“Scott, I don’t know what to tell you because I don’t know everything.” The man paused but Scott nodded for him to continue. 

“All I know is that Stiles was taken by this...I don’t even know what to call it...research facility? Maybe, probably. Anyway, he was taken by them, and then we know basically nothing until the government was able to gather enough evidence to take them down. And now Stiles is in recovery.”

“What happened to him when he was taken? By that place?” 

Mr. Stilinski sighed again, wiping away a stray tear that had illegally tried to make its way down his cheek. “I don’t know, Scott. Nothing?”

Scott felt himself get angry, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his eyes flash a deep red. “Nothing? What do you mean nothing? Nothing as in they know nothing or nothing as in they told you nothing?”

“Scott, please.”

And just like that, he's irrational anger dissipated. Guilt flooded his chest as he stared at the man who had become something of a father figure to him after his own father had left. Stiles would have killed him for yelling at his dad, and right now Scott wanted someone to yell at him.

He’d felt the blame of Stiles’s disappearance for four years now, and he knew it was all his fault. While the rest of his pack tried to tell him different, he knew better. They didn’t know Stiles —  they didn’t know what happened that night and god, Scott wished he could go back and fix it. Scott wished that Stiles wouldn’t remember that fateful night, four years ago. 

After not seeing his best friend for so long, Scott didn’t think he'd be able to handle Stiles’s blame —  even if it were rightly placed. If only he had become a werewolf one year prior —  he might’ve been able to save his best friend. 

What if Stiles blamed him to? That was the question floating through his head. No longer did the cheesy pop song take up refuge in his mind; as all he could think about was the moment when he would finally see his best friend. That terrified him more than all the adversaries he had ever fought against. 

Returning his forehead once again to the frosty window, Scott stared at the darkening sky, feeling more anxious than before. 

⇔

Thomas leaned his head back, letting the warm shower water wash over him. Soap burned his eyes as it mixed in with the water, yet he paid it no mind; only pausing slightly to stare down the drain, where months worth of blood and dust were being swept away. 

His ribs burned whenever he moved, and so did pretty much every joint in his body. His muscles ached and the lemon scented soap burned his numerous cuts to the point where Thomas was numb all over.

Still, Thomas stood there, relishing in the feeling of being clean. He could’ve stood there for hours, days and he wouldn't have noticed. The water washed the anger away as well as the dust and blood. 

And Thomas had a lot of anger. Apparently, his name wasn’t even Thomas, as all the doctors and staff had continued remind him. 

‘Stiles’, please eat, you’re way too thin for your age! 

‘Stiles’, please, quiet down!

They always called him, ‘Stiles’, as if they expected him to just accept this completely  _ new  _ and  _ foreign _ name as his own. Like hell he would. Thomas clenched his fists. 

“Thomas! You about done in there? Newt thinks you’re drowning yourself.” Minho shouted through the bathroom door. Thomas chuckled wryly before shutting off the shower. 

“Yeah, yeah. Getting out. Be with you shanks in a second.”

While he didn’t show it, Newt was the most affected by the realization that they all were accustomed to the wrong names. While he didn’t punch out his feelings like Minho had taken to doing, or basically drowning himself in the shower like Thomas, Newt was uncharacteristically quiet. More so than usual. 

Hearing that he had a sister really shook him; especially since he knew the girl. While they hadn’t know her for long, the memory of Sonya really left an imprint on Newt as they had been separated since WCKD was taken down.

Thomas and his best friends had been in the weird hospital for about three days; two since they learned about their long forgotten names.

The doctors at the hospital had already taken it upon themselves to talk to the gladers as if they actually understood or even cared what had happened to them. And most of the things that had happened to them Thomas wasn’t ever going to let leave his lips. 

They were never going to get the full story, and they weren’t happy about it. ‘They’, as in those who worked for the government instead of the hospital, or research center or whatever they really were. 

Minho was clearly apprehensive about this place, and while Thomas was as well, he wasn’t about to throw around suspicion all over the place. That didn’t work well in the past for him. 

Stepping out of the shower and quickly drying himself off; he threw on the new clothes that Newt had procured for him. The boots were a bit large, but Thomas didn't complain. 

Thrusting open the door, he stepped into the small room he and his best friends had been moved to after they had learned their ‘true’ names. 

Frypan and Aris had been moved with them as well — apparently having been on the other side of the hospital the whole time. They still didn’t know where the girls were, and that put everyone on edge. 

“‘Bout time, Thomas.” Frypan eyes glinted with mirth as he sat in one of the armchairs shunted off to the side of the cold, barren room. 

“Slim it, Fry.” There was no bite to his words as his shook his hair clear of water before falling onto the couch between Minho and Newt. 

Aris laid quietly on the floor with his head propped up while a mountain of pillows, obviously trying to take a nap. Thomas nudged him with his toe and Aris turned around to shoot him a dirty look. 

“Why are you sleeping down there?” Thomas was extremely confused to why he choose the floor as the couches were the comfiest things he’d felt in a long while. 

“There’s no other couches slinthead, and Newt had reserved that spot for you.” Aris rolled his eyes, before looking like he remembered something. 

“Oh yeah...one of the doctor’s came in when it was just me in here, and said that later today they’d need to talk to all of us about something important — sorry, I forgot.” Aris shrugged bashfully before laying down on the floor again to try and sleep.

Thomas felt Newt straighten up. “What do they mean, important?” 

Aris adjusted his pillows. “I don’t know, sorry.”

“Hopefully it’s to tell us where the kitchen’s at; ‘cuz y’all know I could make something ‘mazing instead of that trash their feeding us.” Frypan grinned lazily.

“Fry, after so long only able to eat dirt, I’d eat anything.” Minho leaned his head back against the headrest of the couch. 

Frypan laughed. “Is that a bet, Minho?”

“Sure.” Minho snorted. “I’ll eat whatever food you give me.” 

“Alright…” Frypan rubbed his hands together as he sat up straighter on the couch. “The next time one of these shanks makes a klunck, you gotta eat that.”

Thomas laughed a bit. “Ahh, Frypan, that’s nasty. That’s not even food.” He glanced over at Newt and felt lighter that the blond was actually smiling, and not just sitting quietly. 

Frypan shrugged. “He asked for it. He ate my pudding cup last night.”

Minho burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, I did do that.” He glared at Frypan. “And as long as it’s not your klunck, I’m down. Trust you to eat something funky to make it worse.”

Newt bit his lip, trying hard to keep himself from giggling. “You two are so full of it. And remember Minho — you are what you eat.” 

“That’s a lame ass saying right there, Newt.” Thomas laughed. 

“Shut up, Tommy. Like you could do any better.”

“Really? Well — .”

Thomas was interrupted when the doors to the outside hallway slammed open. All the boys jumped in shock and Minho grabbed a lamp on a side table. Instead of WCKD agents like they’d all subconsciously prepared for, the only thing that walked through the doors was a short blonde girl in large glasses holding a thick clipboard. 

“Welcome to VIBE!” The girl made herself at home on one of the armchairs as soldiers closed the doors. Thomas watched them leave with suspicious eyes, and even when they were gone, none of the gladers relaxed from their tense positions; Minho was still holding the lamp, Frypan’s eyebrows touched his hairline, Aris had shot up from his nap on the floor, and Newt was gripping his arm tightly. 

All of this seemed to go over the head of the young blond — possibly an intern of some sort —  as she continued as if nothing had happened. Then she started to speak very quickly, her eyes glued to her clipboard.

“We at VIBE make it our mission to protect the lives of the future generation,  _ our  _ generation. WCKD is completely against everything we stand for; using people, nonetheless  _ children _ for scientific study is horrendous. 

“We have known about WCKD for quite some time, because of some inside sources, yet none of them seem to live very long. Because of this, we could never obtain enough evidence against the company for the crimes they did to you children, all in the name of science. 

“Now, the reason why they took each of you in particular is still unknown, and as for what they were studying is also unknown, so we still need to find that out before we go public. The only reason we were able to bring in WCKD was that we gained a mole more valuable than any others we’ve ever had.”

The girl paused her rambling as if that would help the information seep into their brains. A  _ mole.  _ From  _ inside _ WCKD.

“Then badda-bing, badda-boom — we saved you from WCKD. Now you’re here; a local hospital VIBE had commandeered for the moment while we wait and process you children back into society. The hospital staff while smart are rather  —.”

“Wait.” Aris spoke up. “What do you mean, processed back into society?”

“Well you can’t stay here, now can you?” When no one responded, the girl knitted her eyebrows. “You mean that they really haven’t told you?”

Thomas sat up straighter than he thought possible, panic flooding through his head as he listed the many thousands of possibilities of things they hadn’t yet told them. 

Frypan spoke up, “Told us what?”

Shaking her head slightly, the girl said, “About where you’re going after this place! Where your family is.”

She was met with confused silence once again, and with a flurry of papers, she pulled out a yellow folder. “Now, I don’t know If I’m allowed to tell you this yet, but seeing as most of your guy’s families are coming tomorrow…” 

She cleared her throat, skimming the pages in the folder. “Samuel, you have a younger sister named Elizabeth, correct? She was taken the same time as you were?”

“Newt. My name is Newt and my sister is Sonya. I don’t remember if they took her with me however.” Newt brushed his blond hair out of his eyes, his face colored a bit. 

“It’s alright if you don’t remember, Newt. The doctors are working non-stop for a cure.” The girl flashed him a bright smile and Thomas grimaced. 

“Anyway,” The girl continued, reading thoroughly.  “The heads of VIBE think that it’s a good idea for the rest of you to integrate back into society  — that is to go live with your families, as most of you are underage. The doctors do want a full report every month on how you are shaping up, though.”

Silence filled the small room. An unbearable silence that only heightened Thomas’s nerves. His fingers twitched against the soft leather on the couch, and his arm jerked as Newt’s grip on his arm tightened harshly. The whole room was on bated breath; and the tension was to thick to cut with a knife. 

“You mean we’re going home?” Frypan asked quietly, as if he was scared to hear the answer.

“Yes!” The girl grinned, her eyes bright and naïve. 

_ Going home.  _ Home. Home. Thomas didn’t  _ have _ a home. Stiles did. But Thomas wasn’t Stiles, not any longer. Stiles was dead; gone. Maybe never coming back. Stiles had a family too  — at least that's what Thomas guessed. 

But Thomas had a family to; all the gladers; and even Brenda and Jorge had wormed their way into his heart. They were Thomas's family, and wherever they were was his home. 

And now they were sending them away from each other. Anger like he’d never felt before(a lie to himself)burst as though they had been building up for quite a while. (and they had).

Thomas stood up and kicked the side of a chair, his whole body pulsing with anger.  _ These _ people were his family, not those he can’t remember! 

_ ‘That’s if you even have family,’  _ a dark voice in his head taunted.

His eyes were fire and all he wanted to do was run. His joints ache, and all he wanted to do was run. The pain in his foot didn’t register; and neither did two people trying to get him to sit down again, but Thomas wasn’t having it. 

“Their sending us away from each other; to people we don’t even know! How are you shanks not angry?” 

“We are Thomas, but we can’t do klunck about it can we? So sit down you slinthead.” Minho hissed 

Thomas suddenly felt weak, like all the energy that had been in him before had disappeared. He fell back against the couch and covered his eyes with his hands, and with Minho’s oh-so-wise words and Newts soothing hand on his shoulder Thomas calmed. 

“If I could finish,” the girl loudly said, “I would tell you that Stiles,” she broke off at the glares she received, “Sorry, Thomas, has a father in a city called Beacon Hills.”

Minho clapped him on the back with a small smile. “Shank, you have a  _ father. _ ”

While Thomas nodded and cracked a small grin at that, he felt nothing; no recognition or any sort of connection to the word ‘father’, and he frowned at that. He didn’t like that feeling, and hoped that if  — when he got to see his father that he’d remember  _ something _ . 

“Alex Yukimura, or Minho, your family also lives in Beacon Hills, and you have two parents and a younger sister named Kira.” The girl smiled at a gobsmacked Minho, who looked as if the words hadn’t registered in his brain. 

“I...have a little sister?” Minho blinked twice, suddenly getting out of whatever stupor he’d been in. “That’s cool.”

Newt grinned, mimicking Minho. “Shank, you have a  _ family _ .” 

Thomas managed a smile towards his best friend. “Hey, at least we live in the same city right?”

Newt elbowed him in the side. “Tommy! ‘At least?’ Come on, it’s shucking awesome that you have a family, Min.” Thomas glared half-heartedly at his best friend and rubbed his side that had been attacked by the blond’s bony elbows.

Clearing her throat, the girl continued once more. “ _ Frypan _ , your two parents live in a city called Maine, and I think your mother is expecting a child soon.” 

Frypan smiled. He smiled wide and Thomas swore he saw his eyes wet. “Maine...I like the sound of that. Is it far from where Thomas and Minho are going?”

The girl gripped her clipboard. “Quite.” 

Thomas shuttered slightly. He didn’t want to know how far, ‘quite’ was. 

Looking back down at the folder, the girl spoke again, “Aris, before you were taken you stayed with her grandparents, and they will take you back to Florida with them.”

Aris nodded slightly, and smiled. “Florida sounds nice...possibly.” Frypan grinned and clapped him on the back. 

“Newt, I’m terribly sorry to tell you that your parents died many years ago —  after you were taken. You have no other family alive, except for your sister, and until you are of age, you need to stay in a orphanage. 

“There’s one in England that was next to your house when you lived there when you were younger, before you moved here. Your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon, as soon as everyone else leaves.” 

While all Newt did was nod slightly, it was Thomas who was freaking out. He knew —  and god he didn’t even know how he knew, but he did —  that England was another country, another ocean away. And Newt wouldn’t even be with his family. 

He’d be alone. And so would Thomas. 

⇔

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading this! Keep in mind, however, most updates aren't going to be as long or as frequent but they will not be months in between, thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Foster bent his head a bit in defeat and cracked open the door, letting the end of the conversation be heard. “If you’re sure?” 
> 
> “I’m sure.” 
> 
> And then, there it was. Scott could recognize it from a mile away — he could recognize it from a million different voices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! This chapter's a bit long, and I was going to split it in two, but I didn't want to torture you guys! XD Anyway, thanks for reading! Enjoy!

⇔

Footsteps echoed on the stone pavement. Step. Step. Step. Thomas could not stop pacing. Thomas could not stop thinking about what had transpired the night prior. Newt couldn’t just  _ leave.  _ No...that wasn’t possible, and yet, it was happening, and nothing Thomas could do could stop it.

He had not been able to sleep that night; he eyes would not shut, and all he could do was stare at the blond across the room from him, just to make sure he didn’t disappear in the middle of the night. 

His hands ran through his hair anxiously; he had to think of  _ something.  _

“Tommy…”

Thomas needed to do something. He couldn’t just let his best friend leave to a whole different  _ country.  _ No. What if he just hid him? Make sure that the doctors couldn’t find him? Maybe they’d forget about him. 

_ Yeah, like that would work, slinthead,  _ he thought miserably. 

A surge of anger welled up inside him. How dare they just  _ decide  _ to send someone away from everyone they’ve ever known? It wasn’t  _ fair.  _

_ Life isn’t fair — thought you’d know that by now.  _ The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Teresa, and for a moment he hated that his voice of reason was her. 

It just made Thomas pissed that Minho wasn’t as angry as him; or more determined to find a way for Newt to stay. But all Minho did was hug Newt and cry a bit, then nothing. He didn’t understand why Thomas was so anxious. His stomach twisted. 

“Tommy, stop pacing.”

They were sending Newt to  _ England.  _ Shucking  _ England  _ — a whole ocean way and he could do nothing about it. He was going to be alone in a shitty orphanage, with no one. And even though Sonya, his sister, was going as well, they don’t really know each other. 

It’d be like living with a stranger. 

In Thomas’s brain, It wasn't fair that while Harriet was allowed to live with Aris instead of by herself in Canada, Newt has to go to England. Alone. 

That made his blood boil. His vision reddened and he kicked the couch, sending waves of pain throughout his already aching foot. 

“ _ Thomas _ !” A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and kept him in place, a pair of disapproving soft brown eyes stared at him. “Don’t hurt yourself, please.”

Thomas looked down at his feet, shame filling his chest; his stomach tightening. “I’m sorry...I just…”

Newt was yet to let go of his shoulders, his eyes boring into Thomas’s. “It’s alright. I get it.” His voice was soft; saddened and full of an emotion Thomas was too angry to interpret.

“Aren’t you angry with them? VIBE? They...they’re making you  _ leave _ . You’re going to be alone.” Thomas hissed lowly, staring into the eyes of his best friend as they stood almost nose to nose. 

Newt slowly let go of his arms, leaving a tingling feeling where they once were. The blond looked downcast at the mention of his inevitable leaving, and with a slightly flushed face he shifted off his bad leg. 

“Tommy, I  _ have  _ to go. There’s nowhere else for me — nowhere I could go instead.  And I won’t be alone; I have Sonya. While we...don’t really know each other, we’ll be in it together, alright?”

Thomas felt a rush of anger. “You could stay with me! Or Minho! Newt, they shouldn’t make you leave! They’re _forcing_ you to go to England by yourself and…” His voice cracked, and he flushed, clearing his throat before he looked down at the floor, suddenly interested in the carpet. 

“You have Minho, Tommy.” Thomas looked up to see Newt smiling sadly, and he glanced at his best friend sleeping on the couch across from him, his head falling off the side. “You don’t need me. You’ll be fine.” 

The voice in his head screamed,  _ Yes I do!,  _ but all that slipped through his lips in a voice rough as sandpaper was, “You’re wrong, you know.”

“Guess ya’ll have to find out.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to.” The room suddenly felt stuffy; and Thomas could feel the weight of his best friends’ stare. It wasn’t uncomfortable, no, but the sight of his best friend's warm brown gaze caused something to tighten in his chest, and he could not pull away.

Something passed between them in that moment, even Thomas knew that, though he had no idea what it was. He found himself staring into his friends eyes; surprised to know that his eyes weren’t brown, no, that was too broad of a color. No, his eyes were like an amber. 

_ Thump.  _

Thomas whipped around to see that Minho had fallen completely off the couch; his hair sideways and sleep still in his eyes. “What? Ugh, what a way to wake up.” Minho squinted up to Thomas, his hand blocking the harsh light. “You alright, shank?”

For reasons unbeknownst to Thomas, he felt his face flush. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Where’s Frypan? Aris?” Minho stood up, yawning, and he spread his arms out in a wide gesture, noticing that the two other gladers were absent from the small room. 

“They’re down in the cafeteria, looting the puddin’ cabinet.” Newt spoke up, and Thomas could hear the small smile in his voice. 

Minho growled. “Without me? Those slintheads.” Tripping over his own feet trying to get his shoes on, he ran out of the door, leaving Thomas and Newt alone once again. 

Thomas glanced at Newt, who was looking slightly flushed, although the room wasn’t the least bit warm. “Come on, we should make sure Minho doesn’t murder them.”

Newt laughed. “Definitely.” The two slowly walked to the two doors on the other end of the room, giving Minho a head start. The floor was cold beneath Thomas’s bare feet and he cursed himself for kicking the couch as his feet still throbbed. 

As they walked down the hallway in a comfortable silence Thomas realized something. Something had  _ happened _ earlier. Something — something big. At least that’s what he thought. 

Newt seemed to forget or want to forget whatever had happened, as he hadn’t brought it up and was clearly glad to leave the room. 

It made Thomas feel as though he was thinking too much into what had happened; like maybe it was nothing, or maybe Newt didn’t put as much weight into the situation as Thomas did. 

What  _ did _ he think happen? Nothing? Everything? He didn’t know — he didn’t even know if there even  _ was  _ something. Maybe it was just the feeling that his best friend was leaving. 

Whatever it was, Thomas was determined to forget it — as Newt clearly had. He was probably overthinking everything anyway. 

As though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Thomas felt weirdly lighter, adding a slight skip to his step as he walked with Newt. 

Newt gave him a confused look at his uncharacteristically gleeful attitude. Thomas stopped suddenly, his face burning.  _ Yeah, I’m not doing that again,  _ he thought.

They had made it to the main building of the hospital when a woman in a white doctors coat ran up to them with panic written on her face. 

“Are...are one of...you Stiles Stilinski?” She panted; her eyes searching their faces anxiously. 

Thomas tensed up, feeling suddenly like he’d been confined. Newt shot him a concerned glance out of the corner of eye but Thomas ignored him, clearing his throat. “Yes. That’s me.”

“Oh thank god. Your father’s here, and he wants to see you. We’re supposed to let the guardians see their children tomorrow, but he won’t wait, I’m sorry. Do you mind seeing him early? I sorry if this is overwhelming to you, I know I would be  _ freaking out _ .” 

Thomas felt like he’d been hit in the face. His father was  _ here _ . Some part in his brain said that this man wasn’t his father; that Jorge was the closest thing he had to a father figure, but another part, something  _ different _ , ached for his father's’ hug.

Not  _ his  _ father.

He was  _ Stiles’s  _ father. 

And he  _ wasn’t  _ Stiles.

Would  _ Stiles’s _ father care?

Would he care that Thomas  _ isn’t  _ Stiles?

Maybe Stiles’s father could be  _ his _ father. 

Maybe. 

When Thomas didn’t say anything, Newt put a soothing hand on his back and slowly pushed him forward. “Can you direct us towards the meeting room?” Newt seemed to know exactly what Thomas wanted, and he’d never been more thankful for his friend as they followed the women's’ directions. 

It was in that moment that Thomas knew for certain that he wouldn’t be able to live without Newt and Minho. 

⇔

“I don’t care about your  _ damn  _ protocol! I demand to see my son!” Sheriff yelled; his voice breaking at the mention of his son. 

Scott had never felt more terrified in his life; he had never felt more excited, anxious, and insanely happy in his life — and he was feeling it all at once. His best friend was here — closer to Scott then he had been in four years and he was expected to wait another whole  _ day _ before he could see him?

The wait was going to kill him. 

What if Stiles blamed him for what happened to him? What if Stiles hated him for it? Scott wouldn’t know how to deal with himself then. 

He’d spent the whole eighteen hour drive thinking about what he was going to say to Stiles, but he always came up with nothing. 

Surely there was something he could say to his best friend of fourteen years to show how much he missed him? He was always good at saying sorry, especially after him and his girlfriend Alison broke up. Alison had forgave him for lying to her, so why wouldn't Stiles forgive him?

In his heart, he knew that Stiles forgiving him for what had happened to him was on a whole other level than Scott not telling his girlfriend that he was a werewolf.  

Sheriff continued to yell at the medical staff, (as Scott shamefully had been doing as well) but Scott noticed something through the glass doors of the waiting room. 

It was two people staring at him and the Sheriff. Two boys. 

Anticipating the best, Scott sat up straighter, not tearing his eyes off the two boys standing in the other room — fearing that they would be gone when he blinked. Scott pulled on the sleeve of the Sheriff, and nodded his head towards the fogged glass doors. 

The sheriff stopped talking immediately, gazing over at the doors, at the boys behind it, watching. One of the doctors who Scott had butted head with repeatedly, Dr. Foster, groaned loudly. 

“I  _ told _ Maria not to…the situation is complicated enough.” He stepped through the doors, not letting him or the Sheriff see who was on the other side. 

Scott drifted over to the Sheriff, his heart pounding — his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. Could...could Stiles be there? Waiting for them? He clearly wanted to see them…why else would he be here?

A muffled argument could be heard through the fogged glass, and Scott could see that one of the boys was using their hands rather wildly in the fight. 

Dr. Foster bent his head a bit in defeat and cracked  open the door, letting the end of the conversation be heard. “If you’re sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

And then, there it was. Scott could recognize it from a mile away — he could recognize it from a million different voices.

Stiles’s voice was the one part of Stiles that never faded from his memory. Whenever he thought about his best friend, his face was always slightly blurry, his sarcasm never like the real thing, yet his voice never left. 

Stiles was here. The thought nearly brought him to tears, and in trying to suppress them he choked on air. 

The Sheriff wasn’t doing as good, as the mere sound of his son’s voice brought the man to tears, clearly having to use all of his self control not to run up to his son. 

The door opened to slowly, and inside stepped a boy. 

_ Stiles. _

Stiles was taller than Scott remembered, and he was far behind the buzz cut, as now he had long hair that fell in his face. 

_ Still Stiles.  _

Stiles looked tentative, anxious even — his hand gripping tight to the arm of the boy behind him — a blond boy who kept sending concerned glances to Stiles, and warning gazes to him and the Sheriff. Scott felt lightened by the fact that Stiles wasn’t alone wherever he was — that he’d made a friend. 

_ Still Stiles.  _

Scott had to keep a hand over his mouth to keep his sobs to himself. Tears flowed freely now — and Scott had no shame. His  _ best friend  _ was there. Just there. Not doing anything. Just standing there watching him and the Sheriff sob quietly to themselves. 

Why wasn’t Stiles coming over to them? Why wasn’t he moving? He just looked...conflicted. Sad. To old. Stiles looked five years older than he was — and Scott couldn’t help but notice through his tears the scars on his face and hands, and the way he couldn't look away from him and the Sheriff, yet stood as still as a pole. 

What had happened to Stiles? That was a question that he’d been too afraid to ask the doctors, and he was thankful that the Sheriff had shared his thoughts. Wherever he'd been, it hadn’t been good.

_ Still Stiles? _

A single tear fell from the blank face of his best friend, falling to the tiled floor beneath them. The blond kid next to him grabbed his hand tightly, his face to difficult to decipher. 

Scott heard the Sheriff clear his throat, and managed to tear his gaze from his best friend. The Sheriff ran his shaking hand through his hair, his eyes red and a hopeful smile donned his face. “Stiles?” His voice was rough from tears. 

Stiles swallowed, and looked at the blond kid, who nodded encouragingly. Stiles wiped his eyes and with clear difficulty, he spoke, his voice lower and deeper than Scott remembered. 

“Dad?” Stiles’s voice held too much questioning — too much uncertainty that it made Scott’s chest twist painfully. 

Sheriff noticed this and swallowed a whole new round of tears. “Yeah...yeah, Stiles, it’s me.” 

Stiles weirdly flinched at his own name, rubbing his neck. All Scott wanted to do was pull Stiles and the Sheriff into a hug — something they all needed, but Stiles made no move to do so. 

_ Not Stiles?  _

“Stiles...can I hug you, please?” The Sheriff pleaded, his voice cracking. 

His best friend hesitated before nodding slowly. The Sheriff wasted no time to pull his son into a bear hug. His arms tightened around the boy that had once been shorter than him, pulling him closer as if he would disappear if he let him go. 

“Oh, thank god. Oh, thank god, Stiles. I missed you so much. I thought you were gone, I thought you were  _ dead  _ for years! Never do that to me again, ever. I love you so much, kid. I’m so happy you’re safe.” The Sheriff rambled, pulling Stiles into an even stronger hug.

The blond kid stared at the Sheriff and Stiles wearing a wistful smile; his eyes sad yet his smile showed nothing but happiness for his friend and his father. 

Scott wondered if that blond kid was his replacement. 

He noticed that Stiles did not reciprocate the hug — in fact, all he did was pat the back of the man who was soaking his shirt, looking extremely uncomfortable as he did so. His back was straight, and his face looked more sad than Scott ever remembered him being.

Stiles gently untangled himself from the Sheriff, not missing the look of dejection on the man’s face. He stepped back towards his blond friend, and ran his hands anxiously through his hair — his hands slightly shaking. 

“I’m — I’m sorry...I...I can’t, I’m sorry.” Stiles looked furious with himself; his hands were tightened into fists, and he kept staring into Scott’s eyes. The Sheriff’s eyes. 

_ Not Stiles? _

Stiles’s eyes had tears in them, but not for the reason Scott had initially thought. Something was wrong — deeply wrong and Scott knew this in his soul, and he felt the pain of the truth in his chest so strongly he was surprised that he hadn’t screamed already. 

The blond boy whispered into Stiles’s ear, and Scott almost felt bad that he could clearly hear what the boy had said — due to his enhanced hearing. “Do you want me to help? I could...I could  _ say _ something.”

Stiles looked down at the floor, red in the face. “Please. I...I just can’t.”

Scott wondered what was so bad that Stiles couldn’t tell them, glancing sideways at the Sheriff who looked more confused. 

“Alright, I’ll do it, Tommy.” The blond kid said softly, his voice sounding British, and all Scott thought about was that the kid called Stiles by another name. 

The kid walked closer to him and the Sheriff, slightly dragging one of his feet, and leaving behind Stiles in a chair with his head in his hands. 

“Who are you?” Scott asked, his voice hoarse. 

The kid wryly grinned. “I might ask ya the same question.” 

Scott frowned. Did Stiles not talk about him at all? “I...I’m Stiles's best friend. We’ve been friends since we were four.”

The kid winced, looking back at Stiles, who had shot up his head in confusion as if that had been new information. “Yeah. This will be hard to hear then.” The kid coughed. “Look; I was taken a few years before Tomm — Stiles, by the same people. We...we’ve been through a lot.”

“What kind of things?” The Sheriff’s voice shook as if he dreaded the answer.

“Bad things, that’s all there is to it. But, there is one thing that they — that they did to us that you  _ need _ to know. They stole our memories. I don’t know when, I don’t know how — neither do the doctors for a matter of fact — but they’re gone, probably never coming back, and we — as in those taken by the same group — only remember things from a certain point.”

“What?” The Sheriff sucked in a breath; sounding far away 

Scott felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He felt as if he’d just drank poison and it was burning the inside of him. His head clouded and he felt faint. Tears clogged his eyes as he asked a fatal question; “How far back does Stiles remember?”

The blond kid frowned, “Only a few months; more than two but less than four I’d wager. Before that — nothing.” The kid shot a glance at Stiles, “He never even knew his name was ‘Stiles’ until yesterday.” 

_ Not Stiles.  _

“What? You — you don’t remember us? You don’t remember anything?” Scott whispered in horror. 

When Stiles shook his head, Scott felt as if the world had been turned upside down — his chest ached and his head pounded and his hands hurt from his nails digging into them and all Scott could think about was how it was worse than he had thought;

Stiles couldn’t forgive him, Stiles couldn't hate him, or choose to forget what had happened that one fateful night four years ago. 

And it was all due to the fact that Stiles wasn’t Stiles anymore. He didn’t remember Scott, or his own father, or anything about his past life and that hurt Scott more than anything that he’d been through. 

To his left, he saw Sheriff Stilinski almost fall to his knees. His could hear his own tears — they blinded him, and they burned his skin. Yet he didn’t wipe them off. 

He deserved it, he knew that now. If he hadn’t been such a  _ stupid child  _ Stiles would never have been taken; he would’ve never forgotten everything. 

And in that moment he knew that he would do anything to try and deserve Stiles forgiveness, he vowed to be the best friend he couldn’t be in the four years Stiles went missing. 

The Sheriff broke through Scott thoughts when he sniffled and smiled. “That’s alright. That’s — that’s okay. We can work around this! Your — your friend said you didn’t know your name was ‘Stiles’ for a while, did you go by anything else?”

Stiles nodded, seemingly more confident. “Yeah. Thomas.” 

_ Thomas. Not Stiles.  _

The Sheriff smiled through his tears. “Well, Thomas. I’m Noah Stilinski, and I’m your father.” His voice cracked, but the man kept smiling. 

The Sheriff pointed over to Scott, who quickly rubbed the redness from his eyes. “He’s Scott McCall, he is — was your best friend before you left.” 

Scott didn’t know what hurt more; the fact that Stiles — Thomas — looked at him as if he had just met him, or the fact that the Sheriff had used past tense to describe their friendship. 

Through his mental pain Scott grinned. “Hey, T-Thomas. I...I really missed you.”

Stiles nodded, awkwardness in his gaze. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Who is your friend, Thomas?” The Sheriff asked, his voice sounding better than it had a minute ago. 

Stiles turned around, and glanced at the blond British kid. “Newt. He’s one of my best friends, he’s been with me since the beginning.”

The Sheriff genuinely smiled at Stiles' friend, yet Scott could only muster up a pathetic one. 

Already, he was falling at his promise to be a good friend to Stiles to make up for what he did.  Clearly this Newt guy was important to him, and while Scott felt the horrid sting of replacement, Scott needed to learn to ignore it. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Newt.” Scott forced his face to grin; forced his face to not show the angst he felt inside. 

“You too, Scott.” 

The Sheriff clapped his hands a bit too loudly, and for some reason both Stiles and Newt flinched, panic flashing through their eyes for a split second. “Now, let's go home, Thomas. You should go get your stuff and say your goodbyes.”

Stiles froze, clearly panicked. Stiles glanced at Newt, who looked calm, accepting. “Uh...dad?”

The Sheriff grinned, “Yea, son?” 

“Newt — they’re sending him and his younger sister to England, where they were born, because their parents are dead. They have nowhere to go.” Stiles gripped the wrist of the blond. “Do you think, they could stay with us?”

“Tommy? What are you doing? You don’t have to —.” 

“I’m not leaving without you.” Stiles’s voice was firm. 

The Sheriff looked awkwardly at Scott. “St — Thomas, where would they stay? We don’t have a spare bedroom in our house —.”

Scott piped up, “Newt’s sister could stay with Allison, or Lydia.” He glanced at Newt. “Unless you’d rather stay together.”

“No, it's fine. We’re not close.” Newt stared at the floor. “Tommy, I don’t want to drag Sonya somewhere if she doesn't want to go. I won’t. And I can’t leave her either.”   

Stiles huffed. “Newt, she’s already being dragged to England, wouldn’t she want to be at least a little closer to Harriet and Aris?” 

Newt nodded slowly, accepting what Stiles was staying. “Yeah, you’re probably right, Tommy.”

Stiles looked at his father, “Newt could stay in my room with me, we don’t need a spare room.” 

The Sheriff sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Scott, go grab the obnoxious doctor so I can talk with him.”

“Yes!” Stiles turned and hugged Newt; the blond nearly suffocated under the weight of his friend but he smiled widely nonetheless. 

“I never wanted to go to England anyway.” 

⇔

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! Newt and Sonya are NOT going to England! You all can rest easy now. This chapter was the beginning of little Newtmas! Yes this is a slow burn so you'll really get to see their relationship evolve, but this chapter, in my opinion, is where their friendship takes a different turn. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be up soon!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Newtmas story, and first story in general so I hope this turns out great! This story is very slow burn, because Thomas is oblivious as shit, and well... you'll see


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